Free Fall
by TheJauntyJabberwock
Summary: I hate summaries. Mostly Crane POV. BDSM and other adult themes. TW: bugs and body horror Content: heavy BDSM
1. Chapter 1

**AN/TW**: if it's not obvious enough, this story is dealing in general with dark themes and crippled mental health. Comic inspired villains, BTAS version of our heroes. Shifting first person POV chapters between characters (but mostly Crane probably). What can I say the guy's a favorite to write for.

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It's no secret I have little regard for the opposite sex. I've worked on rare occasion with one of the venomous mistresses who are deadly to cross and venomous with independence. I've run my fair share of exams and experiments on the female sections of the population, quickly growing bored with the basic fears which plague the painted women fleeing in their pumps with all the grace of a maimed gazelle. Or the lack of interest even the so-called "book worms" are able to entreat, their ability to hold a conversation fleeting at best or less with their pure disgust for my appearance or my biting wit. It's no secret at all: Jonathan Crane does not waste his time with women. And women don't waste their time with Jonathan. So naturally, I had very little in the way of experience to pull from when a fresh face settled down on the sofa next to me in the recreation room of Arkham Asylum. True, it's not like I was using the seat myself, but even among the most loony of inmates, they all knew to give me my space. Or learned it quickly. I didn't need to glance at the page number for the copy of Sleepy Hollow I was re-reading for...well I lost count on the re-reads long ago. But the guards always thought it funny to ensure it was one of the few tomes I have access to. I snapped the book shut and turned a narrowed gaze to the vixen, opening my mouth to enunciate my displeasure with the intrusion, but she launched into a greeting before I could push the words out.

"You specialize in fear, I hear, don't you?" the words were fast, her brown eyes wide, anxiety already riddling her body posture in one hundred minute details untrained eyes would fail to notice. But I noticed. It sparked my irritation into interest instantly, a lop-sided grin accompanying the gravel in my voice,

"I do." I did a quick assessment. Glasses in thick round frames, platinum blonde hair with dark roots growing in, a dye job that fell in a sheet past her shoulders, dark brows beneath. Petite frame. No visible tattoos or piercings. The plain gray Arkham wear did little to assist with the quick physical observation in terms of informing on personality, but then I've always been good at poking and prodding to learn what I need, "Why does a sweet thing like you want to know?"

"Who says anything about being sweet?"

"Well you aren't in the homicide ward, for one. You lack the physical scars or subtle deformities to indicate you've spent much if any time fighting, unless those are hiding in the less accessible places?" my pale eyes danced over the sections of skin her clothes covered, but she didn't flinch.

"I'll cut to the chase-"

"Oh, but we're just getting to know each other. You did approach me, after all. And not even with a name, where are your manners?" In years past I might have blubbered and flustered at a girl wanting to talk to me, but that was so long ago. Now it was a game. I gave the unimpressed looking girl a smirk as she returned a blank face.

"Right. I'm Naomi." she lifted a hand to shake, which I took.

"Professor Jonathan Crane, better known as the Scarecrow: Master of Fear."

"Which is why I'm here. I hear you've created a substance that can cause anyone to confront their deepest darkest. I don't suppose you have access to any such resources here, or not so much?" I hadn't let go of her hand, a subtle power play that doubled to test her discomfort levels. She, disappointingly, made no notice of the inappropriately prolonged contact or tried to remove her hand from my grasp.

"Ah, so this is business," which is the only way a woman approaching me makes any sense even in this environment, "And who would be the intended recipient of my particular brand of medicine?" revenge, after all, is a dish I always delight in seeing served.

"Me."

"...You?" That didn't add up, I used the hand of hers still in my grip to pull her closer and lean in, "You do realize what you're requesting?" but she answered without hesitation,

"Academically, certainly. In practice: only one way to find out." My close proximity was doing nothing to incentivize an increase in nerves. If anything the earlier mark of anxiety drifted over her figure was a deceptive veil.

"I'm not accustomed to volunteers for my treatment. You do understand I'm not liable for the potential resulting damages be they physical or mental, yes? My methods are well known to be a touch...advanced."

"Understood." I leaned back at last and released her hand. She was too calm for what she was agreeing to.

"Understood. That's all you have to say? No questions? No counter-offers? No conditions or stipulations?"

"When and where?" I blinked at her, and the memories of the many pranks pulled on me in my teenage years came flooding back and escaped me in a growl,

"What kind of trick is this, girl? Who put you up to this?" At last she shrank backwards.

"What?"

"I made my inquiry perfectly clear, but if you are truly so dense let me repeat myself slower. Who. Put. You. Up. To. This?" Each syllable drew me to tower over her, to lean in closer, until at last she reached out and shoved my face away from hers, standing from the couch. I reached out and snatched her arm, yanked her back down to the sofa and spoke in a calmer voice that was more warning than soothing.

"Hold still. We're not done." my gaze glanced to the guard at the door, but the dolt didn't notice the short exchange. Good.

"Oh. Oh I get it." the realization in her voice drew my attention back, "You think I'm one of those. You think I have friends waiting to pounce?"

"I think an unknown girl has a lot of variables, and I would not put it past some of my fellow Rogues Gallery to play an elaborate prank with a pretty unknown face." She rolled her eyes,

"Right. Basic paranoia among rogues. And here I thought you wouldn't be afraid of anything." the slight made my grip tighten enough that a small pained sound escaped her,

"I'm not afraid. But you will be, soon enough. And so will anyone you're working for. So you might as well tell me now. Or I can dig it out of you. Your choice." I expected anger, and got something between confusion and sass.

"I literally just volunteered for a dose of your work. And now you're threatening me with the very thing I requested?" Oh. Valid point. I settled my tongue by glaring at her instead.

"And you have no follow up questions. Very well, I have some for you. Why? Why, exactly, are you so keen to venture down this path? Do be specific," I cozied up to her the way I have my hired muscle in the past, draped an arm around her both to keep her in place and as a deliberate invasion of her personal space, "don't leave any detail out."

"You're not my therapist."

"I disagree, if you're reaching out for my medication that very much makes you a patient of mine. So tell me what's ailing you."

"I take it that's the only way to gain your assistance?"

"It's the only way I might consider providing." She thought on that. I waited. I had all the time in the world and no concern for the oppressive weight of silence. She broke first.

"It's all packed in a box. And no matter what I try it stays there. I want to face it and can't seem to manage on my own. I hear you're good at making that confrontation happen, so intend to find out if it's rumor or fact." Now we were getting somewhere.

"Confront what, my dear?"

"My emotions. I've forgotten how to take them out." It clicked into place.

"And feeling something is better than nothing, even if that something is fear?" It was actually a common occurrence, and easily rationalized her need to approach me. She fit into the asylum just fine.

"Yes. I just want to feel anything but exhausted."

"That, I can assist you with. I'll make the arrangements. I'll be in charge of the time and place. I do hope you won't go changing your mind."

"See you then I guess." She sounded confident enough as she stood. But then, they always do at first. I slid back away from her, plucked my book up from where I had left it, and shoed her away with one hand.

"Oh, and don't do that." She instantly snapped.

"Pardon?"

"Do not for one second mistake my exhaustion for lack of intellect. First you assumed I'm the kind of idiot who would set you up for a laugh, next you assumed I was working for anyone but myself, now you're motioning at me like a dog. I'm in a low place, fine, I admit that, but I won't always be here. And when I'm back on top, rest assured I will remember every detail of how you treated me." She actually believed that. Believed she would not just survive my toxins, but overcome them. Either she was truly delusional, or just... stubborn? Intriguing, if her assumption could prove accurate.

"Very well. Then what kind of girl are you, if not what you claim I've assumed you are?"

"You'll find out, won't you?" I allowed the pause, and she turned on a heel to leave.

"Oh I certainly will." I muttered more to myself, and pretended to still be interested in my book.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: writing on mobile please forgive typos.

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It was easy to arrange. All I had to do was get my schedule set to match hers in one area, and get the guard aptly motivated to ignore what might transpire within. Not my first time arranging such a dalliance and certainty wouldn't be my last. She was already on shift in the small little laundry room, the clicks and clacks and rush of water for the running machines would create excellent natural mufflers. It was perfect. She glanced up from the shirt she was folding on the table and her momentarily wide eyes jumped from me to the empty doorway. Registered that the guard was not in it, as they were supposed to be, and she was stuck here with me. That alone had drawn screams for mercy from men much larger than her in the past.

I wore my gleeful smile, the one that has so often been rightfully called creepy by so many others.

"We have a full hour session ahead of us." I informed her, slowly approaching the table between us, allowing it as a barrier for now.

"And no one will interrupt?"

"They certainly won't. It's just you, me, and the darkest corners of your mind." I reached under the table and found the small canister taped beneath it. Just where it was supposed to be. The small amount was only good for one person. But then that was all I needed. The tiny canister fit between two fingers. It would be enough. She moved around the table towards me. I pretended to be preoccupied with the canister. I paused more than long enough to give her the opportunity to run. She didn't. I waited for her to realize what she was doing, wise up, and run. She didn't. She waited.

"This is your last chance to change your mind." It wasn't, actually. Mine was made up. But I tempted with the offer all the same.

"How does it work?" She asked instead.

"All you have to do, is breath." I sparked the canister, releasing the puff of gaseous toxins into her face. She inhaled deep, eyes closed. We waited. She opened her eyes.

"How do I know if-" she swayed mid-sentence.

"It doesn't take long to kick in." I answered, knowing how distorted my voice likely was already. She stumbled backwards, the pror physical anxiety tells doubled to those of a full on panic attack.

"Don't forget to breath."

"I'm trying!" Gasping, struggling, backing away until her back hit the dryers stacked two by two on top of each other, lost her footing, fell to her but. She was still trying to crawl backwards, until her attempts found the edge of the dryer row and kept going. There was a small space of wall between the dryers and washers, and she was small enough to fit there. I couldn't help the chuckle that came from my chest, as I moved to follow her progress. She was curled with knees to her chin, rocking back and forth, eyes wide and hands gripping her head. I was well acquainted with the position.

"What do you see?" She whimpered instead of answered.

"No, what do you see?" I leaned down to pry an arm free, and she shouted in answer.

"Get off me!" The reaction was instant, I barely had time to let go, she slammed her arm into the side of the dryer hard enough to leave a bruise later, her glasses flying off her face with the swift motion to retreat, and then curled further into herself.

"I hate you." She hissed, "I hate you. Every last one of you are going to regret this."

"Aaaaah, there it is. You're speaking my language. How many are there?" She buried her head, "no, answer the question. How many are there?" She whimpered past a sob, "too many." It wasn't a scream.

"How many?" She didn't answer this time. I reached down to dig, past the arms and knees and futile attempts to squirm further away, and pried her tear drenched face out. I held it between both hands, but she stared right past me. And it wasn't fear on her face. It was agony. She didn't look at me and cry out in fear. She didn't shriek. She didn't shudder. Exhaustion, and it struck me in an instant. I knew the look. I knew the whimper. I knew the mix.

Every time I ran, until my legs wouldn't carry me anymore, my lungs burning with every gasp. The pelt of rocks chasing me. The taunts, the jeers, the snide remarks and sideways glances. The adults who were just as cruel. Granny's suit, the barn, her prayers, and the peck of crows. And those moments, however brief, when I was too tired to feel anything. When my only thought was how nice it would be to fall asleep, and never wake up. Before the agony turned into righteous fury, fueling me not to the path of self harm but the path of revenge.

I yanked the sleeve of her uniform up, and found the still healing stitches. Down her arm, not across it. She wasn't afraid if this killed her. Maybe part of her wanted it to.

"I understand now." Something about my tone going gentle brought a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She was looking at me now, and somehow it was laced for the first time with actual fear.

"No. Nonononono." Renewed struggle to pull out of my grasp, I let her this time.

"We will talk soon." I sat back, as shivers wracked her crippled shape. From there I was only able to catch the occasional mutter, nothing of enough substance. The expressions of emotions reflected the waves at the ocean shore. Rising and crashing, a few times it sounded like she wanted to scream. She would open her mouth, and clamp it shut, her throat physically constricting to cut the sound off. A struggle between the expression of emotion, and what looked to be a hard wired habit to shut it off even here. Learned instinct. We would need to work on that.

I glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed. Her shivers were starting to lessen and slow. Soon she was breathing steady.

"Welcome back." I got barely a mmm in response as she unfolded, hands groping for her glasses, finding them and wiping her face on a sleeve before setting them back into place. She sucked in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly.

"I needed that." I felt my brows raise without my willing them to.

"You-"

"Needed that. Yeah. Bottling things up is a bad habit to break."

"...so it is. You said there were too many of them."

"Yup."

"And you're not going to tell me who they are?"

"A girl's gotta keep some mystery about her."

"And that suicidal gash up your arm-"

"I didn't do that." It was the same snap she had given me before. A corrective razer laced with poison.

"You didn't cut your own arm open?"

"No. Not that you'll believe me."

"On the contrary, I do believe you." She blinked at me. Assessed me with a fresh expression that quickly morphed to suspicion. So I elaborated,

"You don't have a single other scar. No test cuts. No build up. You don't have any tattoos or piercings. Self-harm, of the physical variety at least, isn't your go to. And besides..."

"...besides?"

"You told your demons they were going to regret this. Those aren't the words of someone suicidal."

"Hu."

"Hu?"

"I'm not used to someone with actual brains or observation skills. It would be nice if the so called doctors in this place noticed."

"I'll go a step further. They did that to you, didn't they? The people there are too many of?" Her eyes traveled to the floor, fingers picked at a stain on the concrete.

"Yeah. Needed an excuse. To get me out of their way and shut me up. Who's going to listen to a crazy girl?" Her hand curled into claws, then a fist, slammed into the dryer beside her with a satisfying crunch.

"And then they get to pretend it's their loss. Poor them. So sad for their dear deranged friend. Thoughts and prayers."

"I'll take it you haven't mentioned any of this to your therapist?" She laughed.

"I'm letting them think I'm a tragedy," The fire in her eyes was a mad roar and it carried to her voice and the twitch in her limbs, "before I teach them the meaning of the word." A shudder picked her up of the floor, her neck bent both ways with pops. The murderous gaze drifted over me. Then cooled.

"Well. I appreciate your service. You do good work after all, just like your reputation says."

"And yet I didn't get a scream."

"Don't take it personally. I don't know how."

"Sounds like I need to teach you."

"I can't tell if that's a threat or a proposition."

"Lady's choice." She regarded my remark, a sentence that flew from my lips more naturally than I anticipated something like that could.

"I also can't tell yet if I'm going to adore you or hate you."

"Then you'll fit right in with our merry little rogues gallery."

I stiffened as she moved closer, leaned down, I hadn't actually meant it. Or didn't think I had. Was she taking me seriously? Old instinct kicked in and I didn't know what to do besides freeze in place. A gentle hand cupped the side of my face and I had to force myself not to flinch. Or focus too hard on the warmth of the soft skin on mine. I hoped that uncertainty didn't reflect in my eyes, or my suddenly dry mouth.

"We will see." She answered, and slid away. She glanced up to see the guard returning and she walked towards the door. It took me a second to catch my breath and glance back. That...wasn't a no. By any definition of the word. To any of the potential in my offers. Interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

"How are you going to do it?"

"Pardon?"

"How are you going to teach them the meaning of tragedy?" She blinked up at me from the pants she was folding. It had been two days.

"Great question." I waited for her to elaborate. She didn't.

"You have no idea, do you?"

"I'm in a more difficult position than previous instances. It will require some adjustments."

"Ah. And what did you learn?"

"That mercy is a sucker's game." Laughing might not have been the nicest response, the giggle it devolved into probably wasn't the most appealing either.

"Well, tell me I'm wrong!" She countered, only sounding mildly offended.

"You're not wrong."

"Well there then." She frowned down at the folded clothes stacked in front of her.

"Do you want to kill them?" I continued to prod.

"That wouldn't be a fair trade. I'm very good at giving as good as I get."

"Are you? Makes me curious what you'll give me for our little adventure two days ago." She didn't miss a beat,

"Something new, of course. What has still to be determined." That made me pause. I hadn't realized she was including me in her plotting.

"Should I be concerned?" Her smile was more a bare of teeth. But threatened wasn't the feeling it stirred up. I swallowed it down.

"To be determined." She answered as gleefully as the smile I gave her the first time I entered this room.

"I could always give you another dose if you came after me. Maybe something more potent."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"...you were a sobbing mess the last time. That was a low dose." The reminder finally took some of the wind out of her sales.

"Yeah, well, it felt better after. You know what could be fun though? You know that thrill you got as a kid, out in a graveyard? Alone in the woods? Walking through a haunted house? The subtle drip of anxious excitement, skating the line between pure fear and excited delight the first time you encountered a monster? I miss that pure stuff. Not filtered through trauma, just fear in it's truest incarnation. If you ever bottle that, I'd pay you good money. If I had a single cent to my name."

"You assume I haven't already." She set down her half folded shirt and tossed up a face that had sprung to life with rapt interest.

"Don't fuck with me on this."

"I assure you, I'm not. It's what I utilize for more subtle crowd control." I couldn't pin down her expression exactly. It wasn't one I was used to seeing. It wasn't disgust. Quite the opposite. Was she...impressed? For all the bragging I do about my expertise, now that I thought about it I couldn't recall a single woman looking at me like that. Only a selection of male students I can count on one hand. Respect. That's what it was. It felt different coming from a pretty face.

"Now you're actually teasing me." She sighed, the sound fueling the fluttering in my stomach. I impressed myself by speaking smoothly past the odd sensation.

"It's a small machine. I'll see if I can't get one of them in." I might have offered her a puppy the way her face lit up, before she quickly put herself in check.

"Well, if it's not too much trouble. That could be cool. I guess." The excitement melted off of her like candle wax under a blowtorch.

"You really should stop that."

"Stop what?" She shrugged.

"Limiting yourself like that. You specifically came to me to force you to feel something. And here you are still suppressing everything that threatens to show itself. Sometimes more belated than others, but it's still the exact same problem. You bottle things up." She shrugged again.

"Habit."

"A habit you need to break."

"A habit that keeps me from breaking everything around me."

"Sounds like you need stronger things around you then." She snorted, laughed, shook her head.

"Maybe so. Let me guess, stronger things like you?" I only had time to smile before the female guard at the door, a woman not on my pay-roll, came closer.

"You two are supposed to be working. What are you giggling about?" She answered first,

"The various insect choices for cleaning decaying flesh from animal bones for taxidermy. It's the all-natural and environmentally friendly way to-" the guard visibly shivered and held up a hand for Naomi to stop.

"Sorry I asked. Just...keep folding." She moved back to the doorway, eager to escape the conversation topic. Smoothly done, but I allowed the conversational segway instead of providing an external compliment.

"Taxidermy?" Naomi shrugged.

"It's a hobby."

"Why am I not surprised?" A mischievous grin answered,

"Because I literally volunteered to be one of your test subjects for fun?"

"For fun? And here I thought you were seeking my services for personal betterment," I feigned distress, "are you just using me for a good time?" She looked up at me with something I'd only seen in jest once, back in high school. When Sherry Squires had flirted with me to lure me into the trap waiting in that basement. I realized suddenly exactly how fake Sherry's interest in me had been, the playful caresses and bat of eyelashes had been a ghostly whisper. The eyes looking up to me now were equal parts invitation and challenge, solid and unmistakable reality.

"Do you want me to?"

My mouth was too dry to answer, uncertain hands fumbled the shirt I had been folding into a crumpled heap on the floor. Her eyes watched the item fall. Her fingertips delicately traced the smooth surface of the table as she moved around to my side. All grace. Confidence. She bent at the knees to scoop up the fabric, glanced up at me with a casual toss of hair over one shoulder, and stood up. Slow. Steady. Let me count each passing heartbeat thrum through my veins. Knowing exactly what she was doing.

"You dropped this." She purred, holding the fabric out for me to take. A grating shout from behind me made me jump,

"No fraternizing! Do I need to separate you two?" With grit teeth I snatched the shirt back.

"That's hardly necessary." I tossed back over my shoulder at the obnoxious troll of a woman. Naomi slid back to her side of the table.

"Maybe some other time." There was nothing sweet in her smile. I didn't want there to be. The thoughts that started playing in my head were things which hadn't plagued me since adolescence. Unfulfilled fantasies I had no experience to make any more tangible than a wisp of smoke. I instantly hated her for revitalizing the old memories and dead dreams. We worked the remaining hour in silence. Each time I glanced up at her to find her smugly ignoring me. I thought of speaking up to interrupt. To reclaim her focus. To ruin the moment entirely, crawl under her skin and stay there. But in the end my thoughts stayed in my head, my hands stayed busy instead of idle. Until it was time at last to return to our cells.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN**\- wrote this chapter mostly to three songs. In This Moment's Black Wedding and River of Fire, and Matt Lange's Bleed Together. For those curious.

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The days passed in an agonizing crawl. The books in my possession had long since been devoured too frequently to hold my interest. My usual plotting all wound up coming back to the sweetest thoughts of screaming lips, and a throat gripped between my fingers. My usual insomnia only lengthened the more unusual brand of suffering, that floated between burning irritation and an excitement I had no comfort keeping. No one would know it to look at my outward cool composure, or so I convinced myself. I wouldn't let that evil little vixen have any idea either. I was not some adolescent fool to fall into these kinds of petty games. It was past time I showed the girl just who she was dealing with. A thought that eased my anxious energy into the usual confidence worthy of the Master of Fear.

These thoughts carried me through the two day gap, until I could count down the minutes to our next private sessions. My own guard was stationed again. The one who would not interfere even if I killed someone. It's the kind of thing that happens all the time here, after all.

She was there first, busy clearing out a dryer's contents into a basket to carry to the table. I watched her work without moving further into the room. Funny how after two days of plotting you can still end up frozen in the moment. She tossed her hair over a shoulder with a natural motion of her head that was more instinct than focus, just as she had previously, before she lifted the filled basket of fresh clothes. She still hadn't noticed me looming over the escape route. She dumped the clothes and frowned at a shirt, which she plucked from the pile and held to examine closer.

"Are we expected to get the bloodstains out?" I had to mostly read her lips over the white noise of the running machines, I spoke loud enough to be heard over them.

"You tell me." She granted me a startled jump, at least. And then a smile.

"Oh, hello." She glanced at the door and noticed what was missing.

"Do we get another session?"

"We do." A shiver carried its way across her. I didn't think for a second it was fear.

"What will it be this time?"

"Come over here and find out." I expected a sassy retort. A quick quip. A cruel look. What she gave me instead was far worse. She set down the shirt she had been questioning, walked towards me with the same steady pace she had the last time we shared this room, stopped a few feet in front of me, and lowered herself to sit on folded legs with her hands in her lap. She never broke eye contact. She never blinked.

"What would you have me do now?" My stomach knotted too quickly to answer. A hundred words came to mind at once and none of them crossed my tongue. Which may have been for the best. At last I settled smartly on,

"What happened to respecting your intelligence?"

"Are you saying intelligent people can't willingly submit to another?" I hoped my face didn't reflect my surprise, but suspected it had done just that. I managed after a fashion to keep my own grace, pull on my poise and power.

"An interesting inquiry. What, precisely, do you anticipate I might suggest?" I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of thinking she had gotten to me. Instead I very slowly began to pace around her.

"I'm not sure. A girl can hope it's something fun. But then, I did leave it in your hands."

"I don't know anyone who would call what I do fun."

"You do now," she tilted her head back to look up at where I had stopped behind her, long hair spilling down her back and delicate neck on display, "maybe you've been around the wrong people before." I gave her a sadistic smile and crouched. I still towered over her,

"This coming from you?"

"I've never denied the company I've kept is unworthy." I reached out and ran one spindly finger up the length of her throat with a low murmured response,

"And you think I'm any better?" Her eyes fluttered shut and breath hitched, the angle drew my attention instantly to the rise and fall of her chest. Her answer was as breathy as she looked,

"Only one way to find out."

I've never faced someone who wanted me to touch them before. Instead of surrendering to the offering, I stood tall and took three steps back. I hoped it didn't look as difficult as it felt.

"Face forward." She did it. No hesitation. I fell back to the disciplinary tone that had served me so well as a professor of psychology. The tone that could make a way-ward student feel instantly ashamed,

"What, exactly, are you doing?" She didn't buckle.

"What you tell me to do." I shook my head, though she couldn't see it.

"We both know that's not what I was asking."

"Then say what you mean and mean what you say." I took a step towards her, ready to reprimand the bratty response, and realized. It clicked together. That was exactly what she wanted. A chuckle slipped out of me as the realization took solid formation. Instead I paced back around her, her focus diligently remained forward facing as I moved. I crouched down again, balanced on the balls of my feet and rested my hands on my knees in front of her. I kept my face neutral until curiosity let her eyes flit over my features, searching out an answer. I extended a hand. She stared at it. I didn't elaborate. I wanted to see what she would do. After several breaths, she crawled towards me across the concrete. She made it look effortless. Then she set her face into my offered palm.

For a small moment, the tension of the prior days settled. She closed her eyes, exhaled a deep breath. I found my body reacting before my brain could process, pulled her closer, my second hand moved to cup the other side of her face. I barely managed to stop myself from pressing my lips to hers. She made no move at all to stop me, pull away from me, or reprimand me for the attention. We hovered there. This time I sounded breathless.

"What do you want?"

"You." My brow furrowed at the answer.

"Why?"

"Because birds of a feather bleed together."

"I'm not bleeding." She opened her eyes and cut through me. She didn't have to speak. My hand moved to her slender throat, and she tilted her head to offer it up. I could wrap my fingers all the way around. Her eyes fluttered closed again with a sharp inhale, one hand instinctively jumped up to my wrist. But didn't pull me off. Slowly I began to squeeze, but her reaction was instant. Lips parted for a sigh, that grew into a moan the more pressure I applied. I watched her body react, spine straighten and knees part in invitation. It didn't transition to a panic, instead an enthusiastic quiver took hold of her and her second hand jumped up to my wrist. She still didn't pull me off. She loved it, I watched her begin to swim with the light-headed lack of oxygen, and it became clear I could kill her like this and she would die with a smile. I loosened my grip, she swayed and struggled to catch her breath. A satisfied hum slipped out of her. She reached up towards me, and I smoothly moved her hand away. I stood up and heard a weak,

"Wait," but rose to my feet anyways.

"Good things aren't worth rushing. Wouldn't you say, my dear?" She blinked up at me, her head cleared only marginally by the looks of it. I offered a hand and helped her to her feet when she took it. She only wobbled a little.

"I wouldn't, actually." I chuckled at her impatience. The hunger radiating off of her was something I could stand to get used to.

"Ah, but you said you'd do as I told you." the realization registered. She instantly regretted the choice of words. I found myself outright giggling at the mix of irritation and misery that so quickly beset her features.

"You _are_ evil." she pouted.

"I never said I was otherwise." I let an arm wrap around her waist and pulled her closer while my other hand kept a hold on hers, grinned down at the conflict it caused. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. We already had so little time left. I calculated the possibilities, considered each option, and at last came to a conclusion. Why squander an opportunity entirely? Well, that depended on her answer.

"What, exactly, is this? And what will it be out there?" she smelled like lilacs. How she managed that in these walls was beyond my understanding. I kept my feet though it made my head swim. I needed that answer. And for her part, she understood the weight of the topic.

"It doesn't have to be anything. It could be everything."

"You have no idea what you're asking for, do you? Just like you have no idea how you'll gain your revenge. You're just floating through life right now, a flower down a stream." The venomous snap returned,

"Oh on the contrary. I know I have nothing left to lose." her free hand grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me down to her, her lips crashed into mine and the two of us nearly toppled over, if not for the table behind us catching her weight. The involuntary shudder that drifted across me only fueled her fire. Instinct trumped intellect, I found myself indulging the action, tasted and tested her lips which gladly parted for mine. Felt the thrum of another moan drift from her tongue to mine. My hand at her waist pressed her closer still and felt her hips twitch in answer. My own body reacted, and that was the moment I had to yank myself away. She moved to follow and my arms jumped to stay between us and keep the distance. My hands were shaking, my breath labored. I saw out of my peripheral vision she licked her lips and waited. It was clearly up to me to stay focused.

"This is not the time or place for-"

"I disagree."

"And I appreciate your enthusiasm. But we have a more important matter to sort and limited time to do so." She still shivered when I traced my fingers across her collarbone, which left me grinning.

"You say you want me. Is this a purely sexual interest?" She blinked, and something about the question seemed to bring her senses crashing back down around her. For the second time I got to watch an uncertainty that echoed fear spark into her features.

"Do you want it to be anything more than that?"

"Stop dodging my question." The confrontation forced a certain sobriety she wasn't likely expecting. But the gaze returned to me again, challenge and invitation and raw heat.

"I want more." I couldn't help the maniacal grin that spread itself over my face,

"And outside of this room?"

"Did I stutter?" I leaned down and brushed a chuckle along her throat, felt her instant response.

"Well then. I can't say this is a position previously filled. But I'm certainly open to the possibilities. You want to stand by my side, do you?"

"If it's an option. I'll take it."

"And you understand what that means?"

"I'm a quick study."

"Oh I sure hope so. For your sake." I glanced up to the clock again. Time's up. I stepped back.

"The fun is only just beginning." it was a promise to her, and her grin mirrored my own. Sadistic fascination. Interest. Anticipation. Just beginning indeed.


End file.
